


Shady Medicine in Podunk Wyoming

by LordGrimwing



Series: No Home Stories [16]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Drugs, Podunk Wyoming, Shady Medicine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2019-09-16 03:38:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16946253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordGrimwing/pseuds/LordGrimwing
Summary: Pharma is a stupendous doctor, who, do to bad politics and getting on the wrong side of the AMA, ended up running a low-price clinic out in some podunk town in Wyoming that just happens to be a stopping point for low life as they move their illicit goods throughout the country.The nurse dropped out of Portuguese medical school and the lab tech cooks meth.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can't help where my brain goes sometimes.
> 
> I also have no experience with drugs and little understanding of the human medical world so this stuff is probably bogus. 
> 
> Feel free to give suggestions. this story will be updated as my fickle muse dictates.

 

Ratchet: Pharma, I’m offering you a way to get out of this dead-end job.

Pharma: What makes you think I want to leave? Maybe I like working out here in Wyoming.

Ratchet: A nurse who flunked out of medical school in Portugal and lab tech who makes meth on the weekends weren’t exactly on your career path ten years ago. You’re overqualified, underpaid, and I have a position waiting for you back in Boston.

Pharma: . . . Let me think about this.

Ratchet: Alright, but the hospital wants an answer in two days.

 

 

 

First Aid: Ambs, you know that stuff is toxic, right?

Ambulon: You know that chocolate bar is toxic too. And yet only one of us has a gas mask.

First Aid: Yeah, well my poison isn’t going to get me in jail--again.

Ambulon: If you have a problem with what I do, stop coming over. It’s not like I invite you. Pass that cough syrup.

 

 


	2. Characters

Pharma is a stupendous doctors, who, do to bad politics and getting on the wrong side of the AMA, ended up running a low-price clinic out in some podunk town in Wyoming that just happens to be a stopping point for low life as they move their illicit goods throughout the country. Somehow, he just can't manage to leave this town.   

First Aid couldn’t get into any of the American medical school but he was accepted to some obscure university out in Portugal. He flunked out after almost two years when google translate and his three years of highschool Portuguese finally couldn’t keep up with the class work. He’s now scraping by as a nurse hoping to one day pay of those student loans.

Ambulon grew up on a ranch near podunk Wyoming and started running drugs for an out of state gang with his brother. After a few years, and fed up with family life, he moved into town and lived out of an acquaintance's garage for a few years, paying rent by helping out in the dope lab in the basement. After the homeowner was taken out by a Hell’s Angel, Ambulon took over and kept that little lab open, though he decided to avoid crossing any gangs. Realising not having an actual job might make the sheriff suspicious, Ambulon applied for the open lab technician position at the clinic and, as the only applicant, he got it.

First Aid’s current mission in life is to get Ambulon to quit cooking drugs entirely. 


	3. Chapter 3

“Gah,” Pharma sighed, stepping out of his tiny office and into the drab lobby. First Aid looked up from the manga  _ thing _ he was inking on a sign in sheet. “That was the deputy on the phone.” First Aid nodded, half listening. “He’s bringing in some idiot some truants found ODing in a park.”

“Cool.” First Aid mumbled, standing up to get the exam/emergency room ready. 

“Not cool.” Pharma grumbled, following the nurse. “And where is Ambulon? Of all the times for him not to show up it has to be when a life or death case is coming in and someone has to do blood work.” 

“I dunno.” First Aid shrugged, pulling out a handful of colored-top tubes. “He said he want me to stop coming over like, uh, a week ago.” He pulled out the ancient vital monitor and forced the bent plug prongs into a wall socket. 

Pharma huffed and opened the drug lockbox. He pulled out the tiny bottle of naloxone. Despite how much illicit drugs passed quietly through the town, there were few opioid overdoses and Pharma doubted the clear chemical would help much today. “I’d fire him if there were a replacement.”

“No you wouldn’t.” First Aid pulled a clean plastic sheet over the exam table.

Pharma probably would have thought of a suitable retort but the front door screached open and rusty bell jangled. Groaning one last time, the greying doctor swept out of the exam room, expecting to find the deputy and addict. 

“Why’d you bring me here? What are you doing?”

“Shut up already.” The deputy snapped as he pulled a weakly resisting man through the door. “Here’s your patent doctor.” He pushed the filthy, stinking man into Pharma’s arms. “I’ll stick around.”

“My chest hurts. Is it supposed to do that?” Ambulon turned bloodshot, dilated eyes up to Pharma. 

First Aid stepped out of the exam room “Oh my Go--”


	4. Chapter 4

Pharma closed the exam room door quietly. The deputy was still in the sparton lobby, munching on peanuts and leafing through a Victoria’s Secret magazine. His tax dollars at work right there. And Ratchet used to call him lazy.

“Deputy. . .” He stalled, unable to find a name tape. “This is going to take a while and my patient isn’t any threat so you can return to your patrol,” or whatever, “and I’ll phone the station if anything comes up.”

Deputy no-name shrugged. “If you think you’ve got everything under control, doc.”

Pharma stared holes into the man’s tan shirt back. Some people though. They just ground his gears. Granted, that was how he got here in the first place. Better not go making enemies of this town’s powers that be; he would probably end up in Afghanistan. Pharma kept his composure right up until he re-entered the exam room. 

“First Aid!” He spat in an angry whisper--didn’t want the drugged and hallucinating patient to hear. 

“Uh-hu.” First Aid gulped, adjusting his stained scrubs.

Pharma nailed him with a glare. “You told me Ambulon didn’t use. You told me,” he jabbed an index finger at the nurse, “he was clean.”

First Aid held up his hands in supplication. “That’s what he told me.”

“And you believed him? A man who’s been arrested for carrying and lets you hang out him his lab.”

“What else was I supposed to do? Strip search him?” First Aid squelched the anger twisting in his gut, though honestly it could have been fear. “I’m sorry.” He finally squeaked out. “I’m worried too.”

Pharma straightened, adjusting his necktie. “I’m not worried. I just cannot believe an addict has been in charge of  _ my _ lab.” The outrage was forced. “I would be in so much trouble if anyone still cared.” 

“But, like, he’s gonna be okay.” First Aid stated questioningly. Ambulon started to retch and the nurse was instantly by his side, helping him twist onto his side and dry heave over the edge of the table. That deputy’s patrol car must have taken anything that had been in Ambulon’s stomach. “You’re just fine.” First Aid reassured, gently rubbing the grimmy shirt.

“I told you Aaron, I didn’t wanna ride the roller coaster.” Ambulon muttered, shoving at First Aid’s hands once he was on his back again.

“He’ll probably be no crazier than he already is.” Pharma grumbled, snatching up the paper he’d jotted down drug doses on. “I have reports to file--real doctor stuff to do.” He turned to the door. “Oh, and once he’s a little less doped up,  _ please _ take him out back and rinse him down: he smells worse than a pig.”

First Aid sniffed then winced. “Maybe I’ll do that now.”

“Whatever,” Pharma called back from his office. “Just don’t let him drown. He’s the only lab tech I’ve got.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, 2019!

A few hours later, and First Aid was peeling filthy clothes off a compliant Ambulon in the tiny shower. “Ambs,” First Aid grunted, pulling a mud splattered vest over the other’s head. “You can never, ever, ever tell me wearing the same shirt for three days is disgusting ever again.” He dropped the offending object on the tiles and kicked it over to the corner with Ambulon’s shoes and socks. “Really man,” he unhooked the belt. “What have you been cooking? You totally smell like diesel.” 

“I told Aaron we shouldn’t try refueling the tractor without you.” Ambulon muttered, crossing his arms and stopping First Aid from unbuttoning his shirt.

“Dang,” First Aid said, wishing he had a camara. “You are cute when you’re high.” He quickly hardened his tone. “But never ever scare us like that again. And,” he pulled Ambulon’s hands down and set about on the buttons, “don’t lie to me. Dude, I obviously don’t care of you use, I mean I’d prefer you didn’t have anything to do with drugs at all, but I really just don’t want something to happen to you. Like, what if those kids didn’t find you or didn’t call the sheriff.” He pulled off the reeking shirt. “Pharma’s not the only one who needs you to stick around.”

The needle marks in Ambulon’s arms glared up at First Aid. “What did you do? Use a 15 gauge needle?” He grabbed a wrist and pulled up an arm, examining a dark hematoma. “Did you blow the vein and just keep trying? I can’t even believe you work in the same clinic as I do.” First Aid grumbled, annoyance masking the worry.

“You work here?” Ambulon sounded vaguely stunned.

“You’re real funny.” First Aid crouched, working off the tight jeans. “Soon you’ll be funny and clean.” He turned the nearly nude and kind of good looking man around so he wouldn’t get a face full of lukewarm water.

Sure, Ambulon had a nice body but that wasn’t what made First Aid freeze. It wasn’t the scare either. He knew about that already; Ambulon said he got it from an ill tempered bull back when he worked on his parents’ ranch. The bruises stopped him. Angular and shaped almost like the heel of a boot, darkening Ambulon’s back and thighs.

First Aid knew Ambulon worked for violent people. He’d seen his pal with a few black eyes and sore ribs but this was something else entirely. There had to be nearly twenty bruises that he could see, all ugly and dark. First Aid was sure more hid under the black briefs but he was also sure there was something creepy about debriefing a drugged friend while in a shower.

“Dude,” he finally said, turning on the shower, “I don’t know who you pissed off but I’d probably want to get high too if someone tenderized meat on my back.” First Aid could panic over this later, now, he had to figure out how scrub Ambulon down while also stopping him from falling asleep and toppling over.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ends that little arch (for now).
> 
> not sure I really wanted to post this part but I did and would really like to know what y'all thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new story arch.
> 
> First Aid must make a big decision. Pharma doesn't see the problem. Ambulon may remember to help out . . . eventually.

First Aid doodled glumly on a utility bill. Snow blustering beyond the clinic window promised a frigid drive home. The swivel chair squeaked as he rocked back and forth, kicking an old sneaker over the linoleum. 

“Why the mulish face?” Ambulon disrupted the dower air, plopping down on the desk. “You can go watch anime in, like, five minutes.” The lab tech gave the nurse’s shoulder a playful punch.

First Aid rubbed a graphite dusted hand over his eyes. “And the whole time I’m gonna be wondering ‘pay the rent or car loan?’” He face-palmed with the bill.

The swinging door to the back room swished open. “What’s this? My assistants conspiring behind my back.” Pharma swept into the waiting room, briefcase in hand. “I refuse to deal with a union.”

Ambulon rolled his eyes. “Aid can’t decide which devil to piss off: landlord or bank.”

First Aid groaned, head dropping. “My landlord said I’m out if I’m late on rent again and I’m this close to losing my car.” He raised a thumb and pointer finger.

Pharma slammed his case on the rickety desk causing Ambulon to jump off and First Aid to sit up. “I can not believe you.” He leveled the nurse with a stern glare. “First Aid, pick the car. You can sleep in your car but you can’t drive your apartment to work!” He nearly shouted.     

Ambulon ran a stained hand through his hair. “And that’s why I own.”

First Aid groaned again.

“Now is not a good time to start being late to work.” Pharma threw over his shoulder on the way to the exit. A gust of snow swirled in as he left.

“Well,” Ambulon patted First Aid’s shoulder. “You’ve got big decisions buddy. It’s really getting cold, so--ah--don’t freeze, whichever one you choose.” He pulled his giant coat off the rack by the door. “Night.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am still working on this . . . a little.

“Negative freaking five degrees.” First Aid chattered, climbing under the mound of sleeping bags and blankets that filled the back seat of his car. A record high since he’d been evicted and his weather app didn’t promise any improvement. His blankets felt colder than the air outside.

Seven restless nights in the bitter cold, no end in sight, and all his boss did was compliment him on punctual arrivals. As if First Aid would stay out in the cold any longer than he had to, especially not when there was a limitless supply of hot water and cocoa powder inside. Fifteen hours and he would be back in that toasty clinic, sipping coco and chatting with the crazy old hicks that lived out here.

He was just getting warm when something tapped the window above his head. First Aid swore. It was too early for a deputy to be stopping by to remind him, for the third time, that it is far too cold to sleep in his car and he really did not want to get mugged by some oily gangsters. Slowly, he wiggled out of his cocoon, glowering at the dark world outside.

Ambulon waved at him, gesturing to be let in. 

First Aid unlocked the door and twisted around into a sitting position, bracing himself for the cold that followed Ambulon in. 

“Cozy.” The lab tech commented, sitting atop the mound of blankets that had been covering First Aid’s feet.

“Not that seeing you is bad,” First Aid squinted over the top of a quilt. “But I was just starting to get warm. What do you want?”

Ambulon looked up from the patterned he’d been tracing along a particularly flowery blanket. “Well, you’ve been living out of your car for a few days now--”

First Aid snorted.

“--and the weather is supposed to be getting really bad--”

Another snort.

Ambulon hardly missed a beat. “I have an extra room, so if you want you can stay there until you find another apartment.” 

First Aid’s mouth hung open slightly. “Ambs, if you forgot about this until now, I am going to hate you for a week.”

The brown haired man grinned sheepishly.


	8. Chapter 8

As many times as First Aid had been in Ambulon’s house, he’d never spent much time in the actual living space. He’d seen it, sure, walking from the garage to the basement and they’d had a really late dinner in the kitchen once, but the rest of the house was pretty much unexplored territory.  

“It’s a hide-a-bed, so. . .” Ambulon trailed off, shrugging toward the sagging green sofa. “Slightly better than a car.”

“Loads.” First Aid assured as he dropped his pink duffle bag just inside the door. The functional heater alone made everything better. “Beats a freezing car any night.” And an actual room was nice.

Ambulon grunted. “Sure.” He pulled the tattered cushions away, revealing the springs and bars of an ancient bed. A puff of dust emerged with the mattress and a small moth fluttered away angrily.

“There’s just the one bathroom up here.” The brown haired man wiped his hands over his jeans. “I’m a light sleeper, so if you have to get up at night, please use the one downstairs.”

“No problem.” First Aid flopped onto the bed, eyes closing sleepily. “As long as I don’t find any needles.” He yawned. 

Ambulon rolled his eyes. “I’ll grab you a couple of blankets. Your’s look like they need a good wash.” He stepped out of the dimly lit room.    

He returned in less than a minute with two wool blankets. First Aid was already fast asleep: flopped halfway on the mattress, shoes on, mouth open. Carefully, Ambulon lifted First Aid’s legs, straightening him on the bed, and untied and removed his sneakers. The blonde slept on. Ambulon added one of the blankets, leaving the other on the armrest of the sofa, then flicked off the lights and closed the door before heading for the garage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize these are really short. Sorry about that.
> 
> And this concludes another arch. First Aid may still be living with Ambulon in the next arch, but I am not sure yet.
> 
> Ideas are always welcome.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank Lintu for this.
> 
> I am almost falling asleep and did not edit this at all so feel free to point out mistakes to fix.

Ambulon looked up from his oatmeal as First Aid wandered into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was almost half-past six. 

“Good morning.” First Aid muttered, still wrapped in fluffy pajamas, blonde hair sticking in odd directions. The clinic was closed today (it happened once in a blue moon) and he wasn’t in any hurry to face the day. In fact, he rather fancied the idea of curling up in bed with a cup of cocoa for the next hour or three. Afterwards, he might do some laundry: Ambulon’s laundry basket looked like it was on its last leg. 

“Sleeping Beauty awakens.” Ambulon said dryly by way of hello. “I hope the dog wasn’t the one who kissed you.” 

First Aid hadn’t even realized Ambulon had a dog until two days after he moved in. The term ‘dog’ was a bit misleading, though. On the couple of times he’s imagined his coworker and friend with a dog, First Aid envisioned a specimen that might be found lifting weights at a shelter: a rottweiler or cane corso, maybe a pitbull-type with cropped ears and a squishy face. Certainly not a seven pound chihuahua, and definitely not one who was fourteen years old and didn’t have a tooth in his head. But that was who he found trailing Ambulon around the house one night. The great beast apparently spent his days valiantly protecting his master’s bedroom against intruders, if they showed interest in his spot on Ambulon’s pillow anyway.

“I sure hope not.” First Aid perked up, images of the toothless fluff ball chasing all drowsiness to far corners of his mind. He set the kettle on to boil.

“With the clinic closed today,” Ambulon segwayed. “I was thinking I should go into the city; the ‘frigerator looks pretty barron.” He took another bite of plain oatmeal, waiting for First Aid’s response.

It was a few minutes in coming. “Cool.” He poured boiling water into a heavy mug and mixed in a scoop of brown powder. He was sure the chemist’s shopping list wouldn’t have much by way of food on it.

“I was thinking,” Ambulon continued, “if you covered the gas, I’d cover the groceries.” 

First Aid nodded happily, taking a sip of cocoa. “Wait! What?” He managed to gasp out after accidentally swallowing a scalding mouthful. “You want me to come?”

Ambulon raised an eyebrow. “I’m not letting you stay with me for free.” He shrugged. “If you’d rather go fifty-fifty. . .” He trailed off.

First Aid vehemently shook his head. “Gas is fine.” He would never be able to come up with a good excuse for buying acetone, road flares, iodine, and cough syrup. “I just thought you had a motorcycle.”

Ambulon shrugged. “It doesn’t have snow tires.” Or brake fluid, at the moment. He polished off the last bite of oatmeal.

“When do you want to go?” First Aid took a much carefuller sip.

“As soon as you put on some real clothes.”

 

 

 

 

Fifteen minutes later, and the pair were on their way to the nearest city, about an hour’s drive away. First Aid, now comfortably clad in matching purple sweatpants and turtleneck, fuzzy gray coat in the back seat, tapped the steering wheel to the beat of the song belted out by the car’s dying radio. Ambulon, now covered in an overcoat, typed quietly on his phone, letting out an occasional curse. 

The silence was uncomfortable and long. First Aid itched to know who his companion was messaging and why the conversation led his normally placid friend to swear so colorfully. He already knew the answer though, at least slightly. Some dealer was probably trying to haggle over Ambulon’s prices, First Aid was pretty sure he never sold directly to users. The falling snow didn’t lighten the atmosphere at all and only prolonged the journey.

Just outside city limits, Ambulon finally address his chauffeur. “Pull over and stop the car.” He ordered, glaring at his phone.

“Why?” First Aid asked, slowing down and moving to the shoulder.

“I need to make a call.” Ambulon stepped out of the car, closing the door as quickly as he could as he raised the phone to his ear, walking away.

First Aid heard yelling into the phone, though he couldn’t make out any words, for a solid minute. The call didn’t last much longer after that.

Ambulon flopped back into his seat, pointedly tucking his phone into a pockett. “The problem with entrepreneurs,” he grumbled, “is that they’re all out for themselves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ambulon's dog is actually inspired by a dog that relinquished to the care of the veterinary clinic I work at and who I am currently taking care of. I really love Dr Fairbanks for saving this little guy's life, God bless her. Rico is a great little old man dog who needs a lot of dental work.
> 
> Suggestions are always welcome and comments are the best way to get me to write another chapter. I do have some ideas brewing that would deal mainly with First Aid's and Ambulon's sexuality.
> 
> Kudos are nice but comments give me life.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry Wyoming, I had to pick a rural state and you were the first one that came to mind.


End file.
